


beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth

by bebitched



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bebitched/pseuds/bebitched
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate title: Tanya sleeps with all of the Cullens. Except Edward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth

  
  
_Carlisle_  
  
  
Carlisle was the first. Not _the_ first, no, that had come centuries ago, before medicine and thought and sound. But he was the first of his kind, the emblem of a C emblazoned somewhere no one could reach. The rest— the lineage, the stigma, the pride – would come later. But when he showed up on their doorstep, expression grateful for finding others like him, he was just Carlisle. No last name given.   
  
He studies her like a scientist might, measures the angle of her elbows, the tangents of her sloping hips with his eyes. He’s passionate, but guarded. Forgiving but oh so ethical. He only takes so much stock in her tawny eyes before his gaze spells regal disappointment. She didn’t know it at the time, but the morality that was brewing there was the beginning of an empire, a legacy of self-disapproval.   
  
C-U-double L-E-N.   
  
From the way Edward stares at her years afterwards, you’d think she’d desecrated a god.   
  
  
  
_Edward_  
  
  
This is the place-holder. Edward would have gone here, but Carlisle taught him well. He must have a drawer full of gold stars for that one there. Bronze hair practically screamed to be patted down by father’s placating hand.   
  
No matter. Tanya’s had a grudge against little boys since… well. You know the story.   
  
  
  
_Esme_  
  
  
She doesn’t see Esme as her mother, can’t even bear to think the word without dredging up images of long, golden hair, Siberian winters before the Dark Ages ruined everything, before they became three Little Orphan Annies, before a lot of things.   
  
She’s a pretty little thing though, shiny around the edges despite her unfortunate and unseemly end. Carlisle brings Esme to them like a bird with a broken wing wrapped in muslin, scared of what he’d done, that the nest wouldn’t take her back now that he’d handled her. They do what they can.   
  
The girl loves to smile, her cheeks bowing out at the exertion, rounding and full. She says please and thank you, wipes blood from the corner of her mouth with the swell of her thumb. Her hair shines like amber, luminescent and glowing, and Tanya can’t help but twirl a finger around a single curl in the cascade of it down her bare back. It’s a miracle Esme doesn’t trickle away with the honey of her hair and the honey of her eyes, Tanya’s hands sticky like a bear’s caught taking things he hasn’t worked for. But she sits still, like the subject of a painting, the pillow propped up in her lap hiding the barest parts of her. Her modestly is overwhelming, sweet to the point of nausea.   
  
It’s easy to make her happy; a challenge to make her moan, loud and obvious. It’s no wonder which Tanya enjoys more.   
  
Carlisle reclaims her by February and they’re married in the spring.   
  
It really is a lovely ceremony.   
  
  
  
_Rosalie_  
  
  
If Tanya didn’t know better, she’d call Rosalie a Shirley Temple, her blonde hair tossed back in a fit of frustrated temper, her patent-leather shoes tapping out an impatient rhythm. Mouth deceivingly sweet. But Rosalie is rarely superficial, even if her innocence died along with her eager little heartbeat. Her beauty isn’t a lie painted with make-up or lighting tricks; she never claimed to be beautiful on the inside.   
  
And she’s proud. Tanya’s first proposition is met with a cat-like swat to her cheek and they’re both left smirking. But indignation fades to anger, the default for them both, and fury is only one step removed from lust.   
  
She’s a challenge. She never does as she’s ordered, defies Tanya with a pert grin and a wriggle to her hips. They burn quick and bright, like firecrackers, and it isn’t long before the wick singes them both. It’s months before they’ll speak in more than insults, but still.   
  
They _ignite_.   
  
Rosalie isn’t the best she’s had, but she’s the one Tanya still matches the name to the face in her memory. The woman is too stubborn not to.   
  
  
  
_Emmett_  
  
  
The man is all brawn, a big hulking teddy bear with muscles everywhere they could fit under his thick skin. Tanya knows some girls like that; (Tanya is indifferent, personally) but Rosalie is one of them. She isn’t naïve enough to believe that isn’t at least part of the reason for this particular conquest. _I got there first._   
  
He makes her laugh until venom nearly dribbles out of her eyes, and she discovers that she likes giggling in bed, for the meantime at least. Sex doesn’t always have to be so serious. He’s not afraid to fuck her and he doesn’t pretend she’s some fairy princess that will make all his problems go away with a kiss. Head over heels in love with Rosalie, but that can’t be helped. She’s no stranger to _the next best thing_.   
  
But those dimples and the simplicity of easy-going laughter only holds her attention for so long.   
  
Might as well let Rosalie get her claws into him.   
  
  
  
  
_Alice_  
  
  
Tanya’s stalking her for weeks. Nimble little sprite has been dodging her, disappearing with a soprano giggle and an aftertaste in the air. Who knew precognition tasted like sage?   
  
This is the problem with chasing someone who knows you’re after them. Tanya’s used to man-handling the upper-hand.   
  
Alice is waiting on her bed with a bright grin, swinging her tiny legs, kicking up the dragging ends of the bed spread. Waiting there patiently like it was all her idea. She acquiesces with a surprisingly deep moan considering her size, tangles the sheets around her legs until she’s stuck there like papier-mâché. But there’s something in her smile that bitters the win. Something that says _I gotcha_.   
  
Usually getting what you want feels at least like something close to victorious, but when the spoils in your conquest knew it all along, it feels much closer to losing.   
  
  
_Jasper_  
  
If there were words to describe it, Tanya would have to say it feels like something inside of her explodes. Tiny darts strike clean through her heart (it would quicken if it could); squeeze her lungs (her breaths become ragged); prickle in her eyes (bright patterns dance across her closed eyelids). Jasper sends a wave of something unnamable straight to her spine. It might be lust, but it’s probably guilt. Her knees go weak.   
  
“I think they were wasting your talents on being a soldier. You would have made a fantastic concubine.”   
  
He laughs deep, and his chest rumbles like a smoker’s. She kisses his throat.   
  
“That’s the best thing about you darlin’. Never know what’ll come tumblin’ out of those lips of yours next.”   
  
Her response is lost in the scarred skin of his neck.   
  
  
  
_Bella_  
  
  
Even Tanya has to admit that this one is a bit self-indulgent on her part. She won’t say Edward was the one that got away, even if he is in some respects, but there’s something in his haughty smirk. Like he’s so above it all. All in the name of poetic justice, right?   
  
She reaches the girl through words scrawled across yellowing pages in the confines of the Denali’s library, quoting passages of Shakespeare like they were dirty love notes passed between hormone-riddled teenagers. She almost wishes Bella were still human so she could watch her cheeks bloom, the trait Bella was so known for in her formative years. Tanya feels a bit cheated. She tries to convince her she met Austen once in a theater in Bath, watches her eyes grow round and awed. But then she shakes her head and says she doesn’t believe her.   
  
Tanya did encounter her once, but she laughs anyway.   
  
Bella’s lips are hesitant, a virgin to anyone besides her own inexperienced husband, and she’s child-like in the way her hands dance across Tanya’s thighs. Their affair is almost Victorian – smiles hidden inside the flap of a Venetian fan, hooded eyes dancing across exposed necklines, whispered conversations outside the garden walls. Tanya would be lying if she said it wasn’t fun, sneaking around like anything would really happen if they were caught red-handed.   
  
She’s surprised Edward’s tongue hasn’t come clean off from every time he’s bitten it during this whole affair. She shakes her fingers at him in a condensing greeting and watches in amusement as his face sours further.   
  
_“What if innocent Bella were to fall victim to my feminine wiles? Now wouldn’t that be terrible?”_  
  
She decides to give him a rest when he breaks their coffee table.   
  
What you discover after a thousand years is that man or woman, vampire or human, there really isn’t much of a difference.


End file.
